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“I’m not drunk,” Greta says.

“The ice queen has melted,” Willa says before cracking up laughing.

“Maybe a little,” says Greta. She turns my way. “You’ve been telling me to loosen up for years. Here I am, loosened up, all for you, Tiny Dancer.”

“Do not call me that,” I say.

“Oh my God your name does sound like Tiny Dancer,” Audrey says.

“Please don’t encourage them,” I say.

“I love that song.” Willa sighs, before singing at the top of her lungs, and out of tune.

I grimace.

Audrey chuckles. She leans in close. “Yeah, Willa can’t sing sober, either.”

“You’re singing it wrong,” Greta says and, as I knew she would, she breaks into the song I hate more than any other on the planet. Well, her special version of the song. “Hold me closer, Toni Danzig! Count the pimples on your forehead! Belay me down a big old rock face. You had your coming out today!”

“Come on.” I don’t particularly want Audrey to hear about days as a baby gay, which Greta has helpfully chronicled with more and more stanzas of that fucking song over the years.

But Greta keeps going. “Handsome dy-y-ke/riding her bi-i-ke/handing rainbows out for Pride/Baby gay/With big wide eyes/Lost it to a butch named Rae…”

“You’ve got a great voice, Great,” Willa says. “Wait, I mean Greta.”

“No, that’s fine,” Greta says. “I’ll answer to Great.”

Willa stands up. “Well, come on, Great. Show me these stars you were talking about at our place that night. I expect to be wowed.”

Greta stands and she’s surprisingly sure-footed for someone who is supposedly drunk. I wonder if Greta isn’t playing it up so she can have an excuse tomorrow morning for having so much fun tonight.

“Let’s get bundled up,” Greta says.

“Oh, we’ll be fine.”

“No, we won’t.” She steers Willa into the mud room and closes the door behind them. Audrey and I sit in silence and listen to the two of them banter and flirt and gently argue as they get dressed for the weather. We laugh at Willa’s controlled chaos, and at Greta’s somehow enduring patience. Finally, they’re out the door and we are left with only the sound of the fire crackling.

“Are they going to be OK?” Audrey asks.

“Greta’s in charge, so absolutely.”

“I don’t think Willa’s as drunk as she’s putting on.”

“Funny, I thought the same about Greta.”

We give each other knowing looks, then die laughing.

“Tiny Dancer, huh?” Audrey says.

“I really hate that song.”

“It’s not my favorite Elton John song, either.”

We’re sitting on the couch, far enough away to be safe while others were in the room. Now, Audrey moves closer.

“Is there anything I can do to get that scowl off your face?” Her tongue traces her lips and her gaze glides up and down my body.

“I’m not sure. It’s put me in a pretty bad mood.”